


Seven Stages

by BuffyAngel68



Series: Don't Judge A Book... [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffyAngel68/pseuds/BuffyAngel68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter pushes a sensitive button with his next choice, but only because he thinks he has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Blah-blah bliddity-blah... made no money, no intention to step on the owners toes... blahddy-blah. And just for good measure: Yadda-Yadda.

\---------------------------

Neal strolled into Peter's office as usual and settled into his favorite chair, seemingly the picture of casual coolness. His handler and second-best buddy instantly knew different and wasted no time calling him on it.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't even say hello anymore? Etiquette is just a lost art these days..."

"Hi, Neal. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Right. You're playing me. Spit it out, kid. Now."

"Peter..."

"Neal."

"I'm not in trouble, okay? Not like you're thinking..."

Peter's face softened and his tone of voice followed.

"You know talking it out helps. Haven't we proved that these last few weeks?"

Neal slumped just a little in his seat and he began to study his fingernails.

"It's Mozzie. I told him I asked for your help digging up my childhood... and he went ballistic. I've never seen him like this. He won't tell me why, but he's adamant that I have to stop... have to make you stop. I said give me a legitimate reason. He stared at me for a while... then he stormed out. I haven't seen him since and he won't answer his phone."

"Sounds like maybe he knows what you don't. Also sounds like what you're looking for could be dangerous."

Neal's head lifted.

"Yeah? Hmmmph. I guess. Doesn't change anything, though. I have to find out. For my own peace of mind, I have to. Have you gotten anywhere?"

"Dribs and drabs, so far. Nothing significant. I almost get the feeling..."

"... you're being stonewalled?"

"Mildly."

"But..."

"You know I will. Anything big comes in, I promise I won't hold out on you."

"Even if it's bad?"

"That depends how bad."

"Peter, c'mon..."

"No, you have to trust me. If I tell you that continuing the search would put your life at risk and I have to quit... *you* need to promise *me* you'll accept that and try to let it go."

"Just try?"

"Really, *really* hard."

Peter extended his hand across the desk. Neal eventually leaned forward and shook it.

"So... what's the Burke Book Club selection of the week?"

"One of my favorites. Novel and author." Peter replied, sliding a thick paperback forward so Neal could see. The younger man studied the cover carefully.

"Dick Francis? I've skimmed a couple of his older stories. They looked intriguing. Never picked one up to actually read, though. ' Proof '. Multiple meanings there..."

"The lead character's a wine merchant. It goes into some fairly deep detail about the process of creating it and why he loves it so much. I saw it in the downstairs bookcase last night... thought of you."

"Huh. Okay. It looks heavy on the page count. Might take me a little longer this time."

"If you need a couple more days, just let me know."

Neal rose slowly, his eyes still on the book, and moved back out into the bullpen. Peter watched him go with an intense, almost concerned expression. He was saved from dark contemplations, however, when the phone rang a moment later.

"Hey, honey. Yeah, just now. I know it could backfire...we worked through the Pratchett blow-up, didn't we? I know... the same reason as all the others. He needs another perspective on... I'm aware sore subject doesn't even half cover it... okay. Just in case it goes sideways, you can be here..."

\---------------------------------------------

TBC....


	2. Chapter 2

From his prone position on the floor, Peter stared up at Neal then looked beyond him to watch El rush to his side, pushing her husband's assailant aside in the process.

"Peter! Are you okay?" she asked worriedly as she knelt by him.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I'll have a nice bruise to show off... but I'll survive." He murmured to her, gingerly making contact with the spot on his jaw where Neal had just clouted him.

"I did try to warn you..."

"Save the 'I told you so' for later, please? I promise I won't deny how much I deserve it. For now can you..."

"Oh! Of course, honey, I'm sorry..." she responded, helping him to his feet and supporting him over to his chair. Neal simply seethed and tried to control his breathing, even through Jones pulling his hands behind his back in preparation for slapping on cuffs.

"It's alright. Let him be." Peter told his subordinate, waving vaguely.

"But I saw..."

"I know. It was my fault, I swear."

"Peter..."

"I can handle it."

Clinton nodded and grudgingly released Neal.

"Hughes isn't around. I think I'm the only one who caught what happened. If I find out anybody else did, I'll do damage control."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. I trust your judgment, Peter. I hope to God Caffrey doesn't prove us both wrong." He replied heatedly, shoving Neal away from him so that the other man stumbled forward two or three steps. The younger man whirled around, as if he would gladly make Jones his second target, but a quiet command from El not only halted him in his tracks, it began to drain all anger from him.

"Neal Graham Caffrey, don't you dare."

Neal's shoulders slumped just a bit as he turned, but his eyes were still ablaze and his hands still clenched and relaxed. "Get your ass over here and sit down." El ordered, still not raising her voice in the slightest. Neal stayed in place. "Hmmm. I guess you *want* the entire office to know what you just did." She threatened, taking a step forward. Fully aware that she would follow through without hesitation, Neal snarled under his breath and dropped into his customary chair. She moved behind him and began to massage his tense shoulders lightly, confident that he would never hurt her. "Go on, Neal. And you better start with the assurance that you didn't damage my book."

"You know I wouldn't. No matter how angry you are... there's no excuse for that."

"Okay. Now try and explain to us what made you so furious."

"You know damn well..."

"I do, but it's important for you to say it, sweetheart. Otherwise it'll keep eating you up."

"It's been doing that since I escaped the last time and *he* knew it." Neal countered, glaring at Peter. "No warning, not a clue... he had no right to shove it in my face like that!"

"You're right, he didn't. Peter? Your turn."

"El."

"If your friendship isn't two sided, what good is it doing either of you?"

"Hey, you know I try. I care and I work at showing him. It's just never been something I was really good at..."

"Care? You blindsided me, Peter." Neal retorted fiercely.

"I didn't see it like that."

"The main character in the book is a widower who can't get over his wife's death! That's a brutal, nasty trick and I can't *see* it any other way!"

El squeezed his shoulders.

"Neal."

"I know... I know. It's just..."

"And I agree with you. I can see Peter's reasoning, though."

"What?! How can you..."

"You think you're dealing with it, but all you're doing is pushing it down inside you and focusing your anger and grief on the ones you think are responsible." Peter offered. "The only place that's gonna get you is dead or back in prison. That's the last thing Kate would want."

"You didn't know her. She'd expect me to go after them... make it right. I'm not helpless. Not like he was."

"Tony Beach?" Peter asked, naming the book's hero. "He wasn't helpless. He only felt that way. The aneurysm that takes his wife is just as sudden, just as devastating as that bomb was for us... and he had just as little chance to stop it."

"Us? What the hell do you mean us?" Neal demanded, sitting forward.

Peter hesitated, looking to El, but she refused to rescue him. He knew what she wanted him to say, but he shook his head minutely and continued on the path he'd started down.

"I care, I told you that."

"If you did you wouldn't have rubbed my nose in the pain I'm trying to forget. If you *cared*..."

Neal abruptly collapsed back in the chair and ran one hand over his face, leaving it over his mouth, as if censoring the words he'd been about to say. To his young charge's regret and chagrin, Peter said them for him.

"What? Let them throw you right back inside after you escaped the second time? Not thrown you a lifeline? Left you alone in the dark? God, Neal..." Peter sighed, mimicking Caffrey's gesture of a moment before, but shifting the hand all the way down and off his chin. "...doing this with the books, watching over and sticking by you... it's because I know what a good man you really are and I believe in the positive effect you can have on the world. I'm not about to let anything derail that potential. Not anger, not grief... and especially not revenge."

"She wasn't *your* wife, Peter. It isn't *your* pain."

"That's what *you* think. Watching your heart and your hope burn up right along with that plane... I wanted to scream, too. I held on because both of us couldn't break down at the same time. I went home and El did her third best thing... helping me drop the weight of the world so I can face another day. I keep praying you'll let m-... let us do that and be that for you."

"I'm strong, Peter. I've had to be. I'll keep making it on my own, just like I always have."

"Like Tony Beach did? Look where it left him at the start of the book. An empty house, a business he still runs mostly because it lets him *escape* the empty house... feeling like if he died it wouldn't be such a big deal."

Neal closed his eyes, reached up and gripped Elizabeth's hand.

"Until Gerard comes along."

"The first person in months that he tells the whole story of his wife's death to. The person that helps him climb out of the hole just by being there... and being wise enough not to judge or pity."

Neal shook his head.

"I don't want that."

"What?" El asked softly, now caressing his cheek with the hand he clutched so tightly. He murmured his response, but, standing so close, she was able to hear. Peter strained and was also able to barely pick up the words.

"To need you. To need anybody."

"You need Mozzie."

"No. I depend on him, but I'm not calling him at two in the morning yelling about the monsters under my bed and begging him to talk me back to sleep. That's need... and I can't afford it."

"Put that in the past tense." Peter told him firmly. "Now you can't afford to be without a Gerard in your life. If you can just learn that it's okay to call me or El, whenever and for whatever reason, the hurt and the anger won't be half as seductive... and maybe they won't pull you under. I can only do so much, Neal. Can't you meet me halfway, damn it?

"I don't know..."

"Do you remember what Tony says about Gerard at the end?"

"Something about looking into his internal mirrors in new ways... and being able to understand what he was seeing for the first time since he lost her."

"Pretty close."

Neal studied Peter intently from under his lashes.

"You sure you're willing to take that on? If I can do it, that is."

"Absolutely."

"El?"

"Always. You're family, Neal Graham Caffrey. No getting out of that, even if you wanted to." She told him with a smile, dropping a quick peck on the top of his head.

"You stop using my middle name, or all bets are off."

"You'd never hit me."

"So Peter will have to take all your punishment."

"You just try it, buddy boy." Peter shot back. "You caught me by surprise this time."

"Right. Some Federal agent you are, if somebody walking right up to you, face to face, can catch you off your guard."

"I didn't think you were about to punch me!"

"After this stunt? A crack in the mouth is the least you should've been expecting..."

"El, get him outta here before I'm tempted to return the favor."

"Good idea" she agreed, urging Neal up out of his chair.

"What about a new book?"

El laughed brightly.

"Come on back to the house with me. I'll give you one."

Neal stuck his tongue out at Peter as he and Elizabeth left.

"Ha! Mom likes me best!"

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TBC....


	3. Chapter 3

THE BURKE'S HOME:

"C'mon in. I'll make us some tea then we'll start our book hunt."

Hands in his pockets, Neal stared at the floor as trailed Elizabeth slowly into the kitchen.

"You're not working today?"

"The best thing about being my own boss is that I can take a mental health day when I need it instead of having to put it off until I'm climbing the walls and chewing on the furniture. Sit, sit..." she told him, waving him towards the table. He reluctantly lowered his slight frame into a chair. In the process of filling the kettle, El paused and turned to speak to him. "You do drink tea, right?"

"Oh yeah. I love it. I like coffee, too... but tea is my first choice. You, uh... you don't have herbals, by any chance..."

"Mmm-hmm. Lemon, raspberry, ginger, orange spice..."

"Orange, please."

"No problem." She assured him, finishing the kettle, placing it on the heat and joining him at the table to wait.

"El..."

"No need, sweetie. I forgave you already."

"How can you? I betrayed your trust."

"No you didn't. Peter made a bonehead move, you got angry and you reacted without thinking it through. That's a mistake, not one of the deadly sins."

"Now I have to forgive him."

"Not right away... but eventually, yes. He thought this book would be good for you, like the others seemed to be."

"It was... it will be. I think. He should've told me about it from the start, though."

"If he had you wouldn't have touched it with a ten foot pole and he knew it. I'm not saying he wasn't misguided... just that his heart was in the right place."

"I get it. I'm still mad... but I get it."

When the familiar faint whistle began, El rose, prepared two cups, carefully poured the steaming liquid over the tea bags and returned. With a mischievous grin, Neal slid her mug closer and took a discreet sniff. "Whoa. I love the aroma. What is it?"

"Chamomile and lavender." She responded, retrieving her drink. "Very soothing. If you want..."

"No. I'm fine. Next time, though."

"I'll remember."

"Thank God tea *has* a pleasant scent. Otherwise the wait would make me crazy."

El laughed softly.

"Wine has to breathe, tea has to steep." She observed, making Neal's eyes open a bit wider.

"Huh. That's... wow. They do have a lot in common, don't they?"

"Uh-huh. Like you and Peter."

"Just when I'm starting to relax, she twists the dagger..."

"Okay, okay. Here..." she replied, standing and opening the cabinet door that concealed the trash bin. "Dump your tea bag and we'll head upstairs. You don't take milk or sugar, I assume?"

Neal grimaced.

"Ugh. Would you put Splenda in a glass of good Bordeaux?"

" *I* wouldn't." she chuckled, turning and heading for the stairs. "Not everyone has a wine connoisseur of your caliber for a friend."

Neal, who had begun to follow, stopped in his tracks. Sensing the change, El half-turned to look at him.

"You think of me that way? After all Peter must've told you... the files and reports you've probably seen..."

"All they told me is that you got lost early in your life and never found a working compass or a updated map. You don't use violence, your mind is incredible and your heart is gigantic. That..." she affirmed, touching his face briefly with her free hand, "... is exactly the kind of person I want as a friend."

"But..."

"I told you today doesn't count. Forgiven, forgotten. Now c'mon. I have to pick a new book for you and my tea's getting cold."

Neal sighed and moved up the stairs after her, transferring his mug to the other hand so he could hold the banister. "You probably haven't written your report for 'Proof', yet, have you?" she called back over her shoulder as she strode into the bedroom and set her mug on the nightstand.

"That's a safe bet."

"Did you finish reading?"

"I did, actually. As upset as I was, the adventure and the pace of the story kept me going."

"You didn't get much chance to talk the book over with Peter. Feel like doing it now?"

Neal hesitated, but eventually he entered the room, handed her his tea and dropped cross-legged on the carpet by the bed. She gave the warm mug back and sat down on the edge of the mattress facing him, retrieving her own drink.

"Not much left to say, is there?" he mumbled, deliberately hiding his face under the guise of taking a long sip.

"The primary theme is obvious. I'm talking about the secondary one."

Neal looked up momentarily.

"Which would be?"

"Should I take back my comment about that incredible mind of yours?"

"Maybe."

"Neal..."

"You mean the courage thing."

"Yes. The courage thing."

"There's no connection for me there."

El smiled and ruffled his hair lightly.

"Peter tells me everything, sweetheart. I know about the favor you asked."

Neal scowled into his tea.

"I should go punch him again."

"Tell me about the secondary theme first."

"Beach... he feels like he let his family down by not being what they expected... not following the path his father and grandfather did. He thinks it means he's weak. With that piled on top of still grieving after six months, when it seems like the world is saying he should be out the other side and back in the sunlight already... he's in a pretty bad place at the start of the book."

"No connection?"

"You said Peter told you what I'm looking for, so you know I don't have that problem. There's nobody to follow or not follow... nobody to disappoint."

"Are you saying that not knowing doesn't cause the same feelings?"

"It's better. I mean... do I really *want* to find out my grandfather was a snake oil salesman or my uncle was an infamous grifter? Thank you very much, but I'd rather stay blissful."

El tilted her head and studied Neal for a long moment before quietly voicing her thoughts.

"What if they were painters or sculptors?"

Neal slowly turned an astonished gaze upward and met Elizabeth's gentle eyes, but he didn't speak at first. "Don't tell me you've never considered it." she prompted.

"I learned those things. I worked my ass off to master them." He countered, though she could see in his eyes that he wanted desperately to just agree, to have the deep-rooted faith in himself that she seemed to have found.

"The portraits and statues most of us recognize on sight were all products of training and work, but the artists also had a gift. They had a unique way of seeing the world and a drive to express it that most of us can't even imagine. I spent years in the art world... it wasn't always easy. Don't get me wrong, I loved being there, but sometimes I'd stare at the marble on the pedestals and the canvases in the frames... and wish something like that was in me. I envy you just the same way."

"What? You're a designer, a decorator... you create beauty with color and line and space every day. Maybe they're not hanging digital photos of your events in galleries... but it's still art. You've got no reason to be jealous of me."

El blushed faintly and ducked her head a little. Peter had warned her that if she got into a book discussion with Neal he might, unexpectedly and guilelessly, drop a mind-blowing revelation in her lap, probably right in the middle of trying to present something similar to him. She hadn't fully believed her husband at the time, but was now chagrinned that her doubt had left her unprepared.

"If I didn't, you just gave me one."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind, sweetie. Back on topic. The point I was trying to make is that it wasn't family that drew you into the life that got you arrested. With all your good qualities I think you're much more likely to find good people in your background. And if you don't then you still have people right here and now who'll support you, care for you and kick your ass into next Tuesday if you wander too far off the right road."

The title of the perfect book suddenly flashed into El's head and a smile blossomed on her face. Then another title came to her, the grin expanded even more and she leapt to her feet, setting aside her mug once more.

"What are you thinking?" Neal questioned, mildly suspicious.

"I have a couple really good ideas, that's all. You stay there and finish your tea. I'll be right with you."

Neal watched her race to the bookcase on the far side of the room and begin a careful, determined search through the lower shelves. It took several minutes, but eventually she found what she wanted and strode back to reclaim her perch on the bed.

"Two books this time. One is short and easy, the other's more the length you've been getting all along."

"Two? Show me the short one first."

Elizabeth held out a squat hardcover book with soft, beautiful illustrations on the cover. Neal accepted it, but his brow furrowed in confusion at the title.

"Uhhh... you can't be serious."

"You bet I am."

" 'The Runaway Bunny' ? Come on..."

"Have you ever read it?'

"Ah... no."

"Then give it a chance, alright? It's a message from me... and from Peter. Second book."

This one didn't confuse Neal, but he was still hesitant. Despite that, he took this one as well.

" 'Pinocchio'. Uh-huh. No ambiguity in your choice this time... Can I watch the DVD instead?"

"Not a chance. This is the original Collodi version. No cute kittens or dance numbers here." She warned him, gently tugging the books out of his hands and placing them beside her on the bed.

"Hey..."

"First you write your report on the Dick Francis book. Once you're done I'll make us both lunch, then you can start on your new assignment." She said, standing and holding out her hands. "C'mon, up."

"Aw gee, Ma..." he mock whined as he allowed her to help him to his feet.

"No arguments, young man. You know where to find the pens and paper downstairs. Go." She ordered lightheartedly, turning Neal and providing a light push toward the bedroom door. Once El was sure he'd gone all the way to the first floor, she dropped back to the bed, shaking and faintly pale, lifted the receiver and dialed.

"Peter..."

"Honey? What's wrong? Is it Neal?"

"No... not exactly. I, ummm... I gave something away. Something we said we never would."

Peter's breath stilled for a moment. He'd been waiting for this ever since Neal had re-entered their lives.

"I know. It's okay."

"We'll never... and it'll mean so much more to him. Every time he sees it, he'll remember..."

"El... it's fine. We only said we'd hold onto the bunny book until somebody came along that needed it. You did good, hon. You gave him something heavier too, though, right? I mean... nice, sweet book and a perfect message, but... not much of an assignment."

El told him. Peter again held his breath just for a second or two before responding. "Oh boy. Hell of a combination. I can't wait to see the report on this one. Was that it? You sounded really shaken up, but..."

"He... he called me Mom. Well, Ma, actually. Still..."

"Yeah, I know. Hearing him call me Dad, even in that sarcastic tone..."

"The book... I think now, maybe... it's where we always wished it could be."

Peter swallowed hard and tried to answer, to assure her that he agreed, but he couldn't make the words come out, couldn't even say a simple good-bye. El swiped warm moisture from her cheeks and, knowing him as nobody else in the world did, filled in the blank space he'd left just as he would have if he were able. "I love you."

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End file.
